


Don't Be Afraid to Be Human

by KtheG



Series: Regaining Humanity [1]
Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Fatin has adhd and you can pry this hc from my cold dead hands, Multi, takes place a few years after the island, there's a happy ending i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:29:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28466097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KtheG/pseuds/KtheG
Summary: Fatin has a run in with her parents a few years after the island
Relationships: Fatin Jadmani/Dot Campbell/Leah Rilke
Series: Regaining Humanity [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085075
Comments: 7
Kudos: 98





	Don't Be Afraid to Be Human

**Author's Note:**

> So this hc is honestly just projection, because I see a lot of my adhd behaviors in Fatin, mostly the stuff I did before I got my diagnosis and of course, fic is a way to work through your own problems. As it stands, I will not accept any criticism of this headcanon. (But if any of you know me, comments feed my soul)

Fatin’s been struggling for a while to finish this piece she’s writing, because despite how forced on her the cello was, it was an outlet. An outlet she grew to love. So when she picked it up after the island, as a way to get back to normal, she started writing her own arrangements. It was a way for her to lose herself that wasn’t destructive (at least, most of the time). She had been known to forget meals when composing, and she had been known to throw a few bows in frustration, but nothing ever came of the frustration.

But the last few months, and especially the last few weeks, Leah had noticed a difference. While Fatin could hide her feelings well, her actions spoke for themselves. Grocery lists sat half completed, waiting on the milk to run out so it could get added, which meant that grocery shopping didn’t happen when it usually did, causing shortages in other items. Laundry was only half done, the wet clothes forgotten in the drier because an alarm wasn’t set, or the sound had been turned off on the machine.

Normally, it wouldn’t be too big of a deal. Dot or Leah would pick up pantry items as needed on their way home from work, or they would turn over the laundry when they needed something that had been sitting in the washer for a few days. They would do it with a small smile, a peck on the cheek (or more, if the moment felt right), and the three of them would move on from the incident.

_Normally,_ it would only happen once every few weeks. In the last week alone, and this was how Leah knew something was up, it had happened _three times_ . There were four different grocery lists tacked to the refrigerator, and the laundry had been only half sorted, and the load currently in the dryer that had been forgotten was a half load. Something the three of them tried to avoid as much as possible due to electric bills. So it was a half load with _plenty of other clothes_ strewn around the laundry space that would’ve been perfectly fine being washed with their jeans.

And so Leah kept an extra eye on Fatin. Made sure she kept eating lunch (the most forgotten meal since they usually all had breakfast and dinner together), made sure the shampoo and conditioner got refilled (it had been sitting on the first shopping list of the month, completely forgotten, and Leah knew Fatin was getting low).

Leah and Dot had been steadily keeping track of how bad things got, and on a Wednesday, when Fatin didn’t come home for dinner with only a small text in lieu of explanation, the two accosted their girlfriend when she walked in the door. Dot carefully removed Fatin’s cello from the situation while Leah pulled Fatin towards the table. A small meal sat, nothing too heavy to overwhelm Fatin who most likely forgot to eat lunch, if not breakfast as well.

They sat with Fatin, watching as she ate almost robotically, mind obviously elsewhere as her fingers played a phantom melody on their dining table. There was only one or two ways to pull Fatin back onto the routine they had established, and it either required a weekend of sex that would help Fatin connect back with her body, or Dot and Leah could be more gentle with reminders peppered throughout the day. Small words that were sincere and affirming. Fatin wasn’t really one for physical touch, except when it had ulterior motives, after growing up in a household where hugs always meant something was coming. And after the island, well. If any of them accepted hugs it was rare.

Given the look on Fatin’s face during dinner, Leah and Dot shared a glance that went unnoticed by their girlfriend. Placing a gentle hand on Fatin’s, Dot managed to still the twitching fingers. It wasn’t enough of a touch to startle Fatin, but it was enough to connect the two women. Eventually, the plate of food is empty, and Dot is the quickest to move, clearing the plate. She watches as Fatin moves around the house, closing blinds, readjusting the table cloth on the dinner table, putting coats and shoes away. She moves her cello into her practice space, makes sure everything is put away properly, and darts back into the kitchen. There’s no order to any of her actions, but Dot knows that this is what Fatin does when she’s trying to figure out something.

It’s Fatin’s equivalent of standing in front of the fridge with the door open (which she has been known to do) while thinking deep thoughts. Pointless, yet somehow calming for Fatin.

(It used to bother Dot, when Fatin would go through and just touch things in their house, things that they had all bought together, things that Fatin had seen millions of times before. Dot thought it was pointless, didn’t realize it was a way for Fatin to distract her body while her mind worked over drive.)

All of this is to say that Fatin is struggling. And while it may seem benign, Leah and Dot both know that something is going to break soon, and it’s either going to be Fatin or whatever it is she’s working on. If it’s Fatin… well, it won’t be pretty, but they’ll be there to pick up the pieces.

Eventually, Fatin turns in the middle of the living room, hands clasped together in front of her body, eyes darting from Leah to Dot and back again.

“I’m sorry. I forgot the laundry again today and I know it was my turn to pick up groceries, and –“

Leah is admittedly caught off guard. She wasn’t expecting an apology, let alone about something that she and Dot had already fixed. But that was Fatin, her brain working faster than what she could express. Most of the time, Leah could keep up with Fatin, but tonight, she was a little lost. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was reminding Fatin that her life wasn’t falling apart if she couldn’t get one little piece of melody just right.

And really, that was the hardest part about dating Fatin. Sure, they had all gone through shit on the island and picked up some new mental health issues, but Fatin had struggled with this unchecked for so much of her life that when things finally clicked, it was like she refused to acknowledge it. Like her diagnosis would make it real and it was no longer something she could just play off as ditzy forgetfulness or a busy cello schedule.

However, it was also the easiest part of dating Fatin. Now that Dot and Leah _knew_ what to look for, they knew how to help. 

And so after that first really horrible week, Leah and Dot were prepared. They were patient, always asking what they could do to help Fatin when things would become overwhelming, and slowly, the three found a sort of routine.

After that first incident, there weren’t many others. Fatin would usually come to Dot and Leah before things escalated, and they were able to nip outbursts in the bud. But of course, life could never be that simple for the three of them, after everything they had been through.

**

Despite careful attention and routines, there are still things that are impossible to plan for. And believe me, Dot and Leah, and even Fatin herself, tried to plan for everything. They had routines for sleepless nights, for hard work days, for busy brains, but they hadn’t ever planned on a routine for Parents. 

After the island, and after _months_ of intensive therapy, Fatin had finally gotten to a point where she could recognize her actions before the island (the sex, the staying out past curfew, the thing with her Dad) were incredibly selfish and destructive, not only to others, but to herself. And eventually, as the years passed, Fatin had come up with her coping mechanisms. Dot and Leah, while not central to many of those mechanisms, were involved in many. (Sue her for wanting her girlfriends to help her when she was struggling. Fatin wasn’t above asking for help.) 

But the routines and coping skills only worked if Fatin actually acknowledged when things were not going well, or when she was struggling, and when her parents showed up to one of her concerts (she had been playing with the New York Philharmonic), Fatin had seen them briefly when she had walked on stage, and then promptly shut her mind off. So when she heard them calling out for her, it took everything in her not to react. If she pretended they weren’t there, maybe they would go away and she could have a nice night with her girlfriends. 

Alas, no such luck. They had managed to catch Fatin outside the concert hall on her way to her car, where she could see her girlfriends waiting. Her mother spoke first, asking a seemingly benign question, but it was the tone with which the question was asked that got to Fatin.

“How long have you been working on that piece?” with an accusatory hint behind the words, suggesting that Fatin hadn’t put enough time into practicing a piece she herself composed. It stung, and Fatin took a breath before responding.

“A few years now, Mother.” It takes everything in Fatin not to snap back, not to react in anger. She looks over her Father’s shoulder, sees Leah getting out of the car and making her way towards the three of them. Leah is moving quickly, as if she can see the tension in Fatin’s shoulders, and when she reaches the small party, Fatin has never been more grateful for Leah’s ability to distract anybody.

“Good Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Jadmani. Did you enjoy the performance?”

“It was lovely. And who might you be?” Her Father asked, eyes locked on Fatin’s. She was waiting, could tell there was something in his eyes that was disapproving, but she couldn’t tell if it was because he knew who Leah was to her, or if it was something else.

“Mother, Father, this is Leah,” Fatin paused, debating whether or not she should tell them about both Dot and Leah, or if she should keep it simple. “Leah’s my girlfriend.” She stops there, already feeling the anxiety and restlessness creeping up her spine. If she goes any further, she’ll have to talk with her parents for longer, and all she wants to do in this moment is run as far away as possible. 

Her parents are silent for a few minutes, and as it drags on, Fatin decides she just wants to leave. She doesn’t want to have to explain to her parents her life the last few years, so she grabs hold of Leah’s hand and turns to leave. Dot opens the trunk of their car, taking Fatin’s cello from her and watches as Leah climbs into the back seat with Fatin. 

Dot and Leah have a silent conversation through the rearview mirror while Fatin remains seemingly oblivious. She’s curled into herself, only her hand that remains entangled with Leah’s connecting her to something outside of her mind. They made it home quickly, their apartment only fifteen minutes from the concert hall, and Leah and Dot tag teamed getting Fatin into their bedroom and out of her concert suit. Fatin moved on autopilot in the shower, washing the hairspray out and cleaning her face, but when she clambered out of the hot water, Dot was waiting with a dryer warmed towel. The heat calmed a few of her anxious thoughts and acted as something to ground her, but Fatin’s brain was still racing, jumping from scenario to scenario, and from reaction to reaction. It was like she was ten again and faced with having to choose her new bedroom in the house her parents had bought when her siblings had finally needed separate rooms. 

Fatin started pacing, still in just a towel, in their bedroom. She twisted her rings on her fingers, usually a soothing action that didn’t seem to register. Eventually, it seemed like she tired of pacing, or she finally caught sight of her pajamas, which one of her girlfriends had left on the bed for her, and she put on the flannel pants and t-shirt. _Dot’s_ , with that distinctive smell and the way it fell on her frame. A little too big in the shoulders, just long enough in the sleeves. When she poked her head out the door, she could see Leah and Dot at the kitchen table sipping on cups of tea. 

“I’m gonna head to bed, tonight was a lot.” She said.

Leah looked up from her newspaper and gave Fatin a small smile. “Do you want one of us to cuddle with?” The question seemed innocent enough, Fatin often liked to have a cuddle buddy after a rough day, but the way Fatin’s face scrunched up told Leah and Dot that the interaction with her parents was burrowing deeper into Fatin’s mind.

“No, I’m okay. Thanks for the offer, though.” A polite response for someone who thrived on contact with her girlfriends. 

Throughout the week, ever since that first weekend night, Fatin had politely brushed off Leah and Dot’s concerns, avoided their help in coping, and it was getting worse. She would stay with the orchestra later, practicing longer hours at home, avoiding even the most innocent attempts at cuddling on the couch. Everytime Dot or Leah tried to ask what was wrong, they were ignored.

Fatin was trying her best to appear normal, like she would if she was still a member of the Jadmani family, and it was taking its toll. She knew her habits were working back to that destructive pattern she was in before the island, but nowhere in her mind or body could she find the energy to care. And that was when Fatin knew she had fallen the farthest. Normally, she was a person filled to the brim with energy, but she hadn’t always been that way. 

Before the island, before she had managed to loosen the reins on her life held by her parents, Fatin had felt tired. The kind of bone deep tired that persisted no matter how much sleep she would get. After the island, when she had explained what it felt like and how she felt out of place, constantly having to keep track of things lest she forget where the best place for firewood was, acronyms were thrown left and right. Finally, they had settled on a diagnosis, and Fatin fought it every step of the way. It wouldn’t fit with her perfect image, the image that her family wanted from her. 

She had gotten better, with the help of Leah and Dot and their friends, but now, seeing her parents, it was like all of that progress was wiped away in a five minute encounter. Years of work, vanished with a simple conversation. Her feelings were turned up to eleven and her brain felt like a live wire, one wrong thought and she would cause irreparable damage. So she distanced herself from those who she could hurt the most. Because that’s what always happened. She’d feel too much and then react, and those reactions never went as planned and somebody always ended up hurt, and it was usually Fatin. So she went back to avoiding everything. And just like before the island, her avoidance and careful packaging of her feelings into boxes exploded in her face. 

Leah and Dot had finally had enough. They knew cornering Fatin could lead to disaster, but at this point, they had no other choice. She was up before either of them, crawling out of bed and only leaving a pot of coffee for them before she disappeared from the house all day. The only signs of life came from little notes tucked around the place or small texts, but other than that, they didn’t see their girlfriend since she was coming home well after they were already in bed. 

They planned carefully, taking note of when Fatin would come home, what habits she had fallen back into, how she talked to herself. And they pulled out one of the first lists of coping skills Fatin had made those first months after the island. With something as traumatic as seeing parents who practically disowned you, Leah figured that Fatin’s mental health was on par with that period after the island. So they carefully went down the list (they were proud at how big it had gotten over the years) and picked the mechanisms with stars next to them. (Fatin, in a rage of heightened anger had gone through and struck out a bunch when she felt like they weren’t working quickly enough, but then she and Dot had sat down after and really talked about which ones were her favorites and why.)

On the Thursday two weeks after the incident with Fatin’s parents, Leah pulled out the weighted blanket and found the scented candles that Fatin liked best. Dot had done a deep dive into their shared Spotify to find all the songs Fatin listened to to calm down, and she had even dared enter the spare bedroom that Fatin used to practice to find the studio headphones. (Dot had gone in there once to see if there was any dirty laundry since Fatin often started practices with socks on and ended barefoot, and had almost suffered the wrath of her girlfriend when she accidentally knocked over a crate full of music.)

And they stayed up late. Leah had made a small dinner, hoping that they could have a snack with Fatin when she came back from the studio, and the two of them cuddled up on the couch to wait. They were almost through a whole season on Netflix when Dot perked up at the sound of keys in the door. She stood, prepared to catch a Fatin on the run, and took up a spot in the kitchen that would allow her to block the door. Dealing with Fatin on bad days was hard enough, but Dot had noticed on Monday that the container that held Fatin’s prescription hadn’t been refilled. So not only were they dealing with a normal bad day, but Fatin was probably feeling everything so intensely. 

She walked on autopilot to the kitchen to refill her water bottle, and Dot saw Leah stand up subtly and act almost as a shadow to their girlfriend. When Fatin turned away from the sink, Dot could see the bags under her eyes and knew that they were almost too late. 

“Hey,” Leah spoke softly. Despite the whisper, Fatin still jumped, hands gripping her water bottle tightly and she let out a small shriek. 

“Goddamnit Leah! What are you doing up? It’s late.” 

“We could ask the same of you, love.” Dot chimed in, careful not the startle Fatin any further. She noticed how Fatin tensed, her shoulders trekking up to her ears, and the way she seemed to curl in on herself, trying to decide if it’s worth it to put up a fight. Dot stays rooted to her spot, but Leah doesn’t. Leah takes a step forward, and when Fatin doesn’t move, she takes another, putting her in arms length of Fatin.

“Can I touch you?” 

Fatin stays quiet for a long time, and Dot can hear the ticking of the clock on the counter. She counts the seconds, three rounds of sixty, three whole minutes, and then there is action from Fatin. An imperceptible nod, and then she is sinking to the floor. Leah drops almost immediately after, wrapping her arms around Fatin while Dot vaults the counter to grab Fatin’s blanket and headphones. 

They sit there on the kitchen floor, living in Fatin’s little cocoon of space. Dot catches the tears that fall with her thumbs, and Leah has pulled the blankets up to cover Fatin’s shoulders. Eventually, Fatin asks for her headphones, and Dot places them over her ears with gentle care, clicking play on the playlist, and she gets a sense of satisfaction when Fatin closes her eyes and finally takes a deep breath. She leans her head back against the kitchen counter and just _listens_. 

She had been so close to breaking down all week, and when she had first come home, she was inexplicably angry. Just a pure rage, and she felt like she would explode at the next person she saw, so when Leah had entered the kitchen behind her, dressed in pajamas and looking like a hesitant lamb, Fatin couldn’t help but question her presence. By her account, it was well past midnight, late enough for even night owl Leah to be in bed. It was only her shock that had kept her from letting out the emotions she had kept so carefully packed away. Everything for the last few weeks had been overwhelming, and it didn’t help that her parents brought back habits that she had worked so hard to bury. 

But sitting here, on the kitchen floor, in the presence of her girlfriend with music flowing through her ears, Fatin finally felt herself. She knew she was crying, but she couldn’t even feel embarrassed. One song bled into the next and Fatin lost track of time, just focused on the feel of each note and the feel of air entering her lungs as she tried to center herself in this moment. She wiggled a hand out from under her blanket, fingers tapping against the floor to get the attention of whoever was next to her. Fingers intertwined with hers, and Fatin gave a tight squeeze. She would be okay. It might take a while, but she had Dot and Leah, and if she could remember to take her meds on time and practice her good habits, she would be okay eventually. 


End file.
